Never Look Back
by DarkFlameOfTheMonkey
Summary: Nearly three weeks had passed since Christine had made her promises. Her first was to Erik, a whisper of "I will!" that no one else could hear. The other was to herself. This was the one that made her weep silently in her bed. Post book oneshot.


**A/N: You've probably never heard of my existence. I'm assuming you haven't. But I have been nosing around in this fandom for a while, since it was last October that I began my growing Phantom of the Opera obsession and began spreading it to my schoolmates like a horrible disease... Muahahaha! Well, it's my first fanniversary today and I've decided to write a little PotO number. Yay. :D**

**Disclaimer: If any of you know how I can overpower Bob knows how many people that have legally meddled with The Phantom of the Opera for decades, raise your hand!**

Never Look Back

Nearly three weeks had passed since she had made her promises.

Her first was to Erik. This was the promise that made Christine whimper into her hands and pray for God's aid.

Let Erik be spared. He ought not to die yet, not when he has given me so much and I haven't yet repaid him! The man shouldn't have to die... Not because I _killed him..._

At this thought Christine would always look up and start thinking of other things, for to go further down this path would be too painful. For indeed, young Miss Daae _had_ killed poor, heartbroken Erik... It was done in a way that was cruellest. She shattered his heart and left his mind and bodily health to rot slowly away, while his soul drifted ever closer to its fate.

Christine would often let her eyes wander about her dressing room as distraction. But most of the time, the thoughts kept coming.

'What if Erik wishes for death?'

Look at that painting on the wall.

'He would want an end to the pain and torment.'

Look at that drawer at your desk.

'You brought that pain upon him.'

Look at that light fitting, look at the dust.

'His mind is gone, his heart is dead.'

Look at the pattern on your jewellery box.

'Why keep his body and soul here?'

Look at the carpet!

'You have killed him, Christine Daae.'

NO!

'You have to bury him... It's the least you could do for the poor man.'

That was her promise, a whisper of, "I will!" deep in the core of the city, so far underneath... A vow no one else could ever hear.

As soon as she had breathed real, thick surface air again, Christine had made her second promise.

Never return to the terror of those days in that house. Never look back at the horror of that ordeal.

Why did the stumbling Christine swear this? The reason was simple. She was afraid. Not of poor, unhappy Erik and his horrific face, but of that night as it led up to eleven o'clock in the shadowed evening.

It was the fear of remaining with Erik, of Raoul and the Persian perishing in that torture chamber. It was the absolute terror at the thought of the people above dying and having the stone crumble and fall on top of her as the debris of Paris, the fear of her lover's presence being discovered by the other, the fear of hurting the Angel of Music. All this she never wanted to relive again.

This was the promise that made her weep silently in her bed, alone and unheard.

It was the day that she walked through the corridors of the opera house to her dressing room and found the man known as the Persian standing outside, that shook Christine to the core and froze her insides.

They met where the Persian was standing, right outside Christine's dressing room door. They uttered greetings, and then the Persian delivered his news.

"You are Madame de Chagny now, aren't you?"

"Soon, monsieur. Soon I will be."

"Count Philippe is dead now; will you be Comtesse de Chagny then?"

"I suppose I shall."

Then the Persian inclined his head suddenly. "His last wish was for you to bury him, wasn't it?"

"Who, monsieur?"

The Persian looked at her intensely. "You know who, mademoiselle."

Christine's eyes widened and she took a step backward. "Why his _last_ wish, monsieur?"

"Erik is dead."

He said it so calmly, Christine was silent for several moments. Then she gave a cry, a terrible cry, and brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the sharp screams that travelled from her heart to her throat.

"My God, no! No, God, no!"

The Persian nodded. "I'm afraid it is true."

Christine felt her forehead. "Oh poor Erik. I'm going to have to go down to him, aren't I?" she said softly, eyes blinking hurriedly. _Which promise to break, little Christine? _She wrung her trembling hands. "Will you show me, monsieur? How to get down to the house on the lake? Raoul said that you knew how."

"If you are willing to try it..."

"Give me a moment to gather my things, monsieur."

-------

Stone walls, dark water and cold ground under your feet. How could one live like this? Christine shivered. There were so many shadows here.

She spotted the little well and gripped the cold hand a bit tighter. The Persian took the body by the legs, while Christine reached under his arms. Between them they carried Erik's body to the well, Christine careful not to trip.

On the cold ground poor Erik was laid, and the Persian stepped back as Christine knelt on the ground and slid the ring along her finger, pulling at it with her nails. A ring she had been given, that she had lost on her way to the opera roof, that Erik had found again and given back to her as a wedding gift. It was a ring that had made her little hand look and feel so different, and that had changed her life.

Her fingers dragged it over the knuckle, off the finger, then fumbled and dropped it. "Oh no..." Christine felt along the ground, eyes blurring with sudden, fearful tears of losing the ring. She found it not far away, took Erik's cold, pale hand and pushed it onto his finger, crying tears of mourning as the gold band embraced his white, dead finger. She clasped her hands and prayed, wet tears of hopelessness escaping underneath her closed eyelids.

Spare some mercy on his soul, Lord. Every man has a fault, and humanity's fault is the inability to treat Erik well. His death is my doing, for I could not learn to do the right thing in time. Every man deserves a chance at happiness, and Erik is every bit a man. If Erik could not find peace here, let him have it after death.

"Amen." Christine pursed her lips and stood, looking down at Erik's unstrained face a final time. Would an angel return to heaven today?

Christine Daae turned, walked, and never looked back.

**_Now_ who can't feel sorry for the poor dead Erik? 'Cause if you don't... (Homer Simpson-style fist shake) Mmm, fisty shake... R&R and make a widdle girl happy? Oh heck, just HIT ME!**


End file.
